


timber tremble

by velificatio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Size Kink, logging, werebear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/pseuds/velificatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames thought he was content with the solitary existence his grizzly nature brought him, until a bad run-in with some hunters brought him to the home of a man who’d shake his belief to the core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The bright big circle in the sky had rose and fell many times since Grizzly last trudged through the territory of another bear.

And Grizzly was just fine with that. Although he was a large bear He liked the quietness, not having to roar or swing at other male bears just to be able to pass by. But it wasn’t as though he was entirely alone. Many creatures still made noise throughout the forests and mountain ranges he traveled. Hissing of snakes, deer scampering about. Food and threats.

Sometimes Grizzly would encounter a human or two, usually while lumbering through the shacks and boxes they put up in the woods. They were always filled with yummy treats, even if they weren’t as tasty as salmon or honey. At least he never got stung by yellow bees digging through huge black bags.

He’d been walking for a while in this new mountain range, had stopped earlier to catch salmon in a fresh lake and roll around to wet his shaggy fur. The water had been very cold but in a good way. Then Grizzly caught the faint scent of another bear and decided to move on into the woods.

Now Grizzly was scratching his back on thick dark trees and crunching his paws on leaves and sticks. It was a dense forest, none of the gravel or black stuff humans rode their metal huts on to be seen. Perfect for finding a spot to burrow and rest. His stubby legs were tired and the claws of his paws ached from climbing up a tree.

Grizzly was half asleep, and the big circle in the sky was almost disappearing beneath the trees when he caught the scent and heard the scuffle of intruders. Not more bears, no, something else. _Humans._

Grizzly’s fur ruffled, a growl tumbling out of his throat. He could scent  the human’s coming closer to his territory, their smell was dangerous. Standing up on his hind legs, Grizzly kept his front paws up, the claws ready to cut just as much as his teeth. First he snarled, then, when their footsteps continued to come closer, opened his snout in a roar.

There was a thundering crack and Grizzly stumbled back, pain blooming in his belly. Still he roared once more, tried to stand again but was hit by another burst of pain near his left arm. Grizzly fell onto his side with a low moan. Distantly, he heard the sounds of buzzards scuttling off into the sky.

So many scents assaulted Grizzly then. Five different humans, all of them closing in, and something strong emanating from his wounds. _Nitrocellulose, explosive compound for rifles._

How-

How did Grizzly know that?

Grizzly didn’t, but Eames did. Fear curled up through Grizzly’s fur as he realized he was shifting, his hair shrinking and his from turning from brown and hairy to fleshy. Not a bear, not what Grizzly was-

“What the fuck Matthew! Look what you did!” Eames heard one of the human’s say. They weren’t close enough for him to see him from where he lay on the ground but he could hear them clearly.

Leaves rustled, branches cracked from being broken. A human emerged before Eames, his boots muddy and black.

“This guy was a bear just a minute ago, I swear to fucking God! You heard the roar too-“

There was another sharp crack. More gunfire, Eames thought, and closed his eyes but he didn’t feel a fresh surge of pain. Instead a scream ripped out, then a heavy thud and when Eames opened his eyes the human’s boots were upturned and he was lying beside him, red pouring from a hole in his neck.

The four other humans fell into a panic. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” One cried, and their footsteps beat further and further away from Eames. He could hear the sound of dogs barking and something moving not away from him, but towards him.

Someone emerged from the bushes by Eames, a pair of black safety boots cautiously stepping towards him. Two dogs scampered behind them, they looked like bloodhounds. Eames could barely see more than that, his vision was going fuzzy, even as he tried to put pressure on his wounds.

“Fuck,” Eames heard the person say. He felt himself being rolled onto his back and groaned in pain, his body jerking away.

“Hey,” the man said, “It’s okay, I’m here to help you.”

Though his eyes were blurry Eames could make out a tuft of black hair, and see that the man was taking something off. It must have been a shirt, because he heard it tear and then fabric was being wrapped around the wound on his left shoulder. Wrapped tight and double knotted. This man obviously had practice in this. Gingerly he tied the rest around the wound to Eames’s left side.

Something silver glinted in Eames’ sight. A chain around the human’s neck with shapes dangling from it.

 _Dog tags_ …

“Okay,” Eames was told. “I know this is a tall order, but I’m gonna need you to try and stay awake. My truck’s not far from here, I can take you somewhere safe.”

Eames shouted when he was hefted up, the man slipping an arm underneath his left shoulder, supporting Eames’ weight. He could feel a good deal of strength in the muscular form he was leaning on. It was reassuring.

The next few minutes were a haze, a confusing merger of pain, fear and Eames desperately wanting to claw out of his own skin. Years must have passed since he’d shifted, of that he had no doubt. This body he was being half dragged in felt alien and painful. The accumulation of hair on his face and neck prickled his skin. Not to mention the fact that he was stark naked.

They reached what must have been the edge of the forest where Eames could see a large blue truck and in the distance some flatlands. Not just lands, but buildings too. Something like panic welled up inside him. He groaned and then-

_“Shit! What the fuck-“_

Then he wasn’t Eames anymore.

It was a human who’d cried out when Grizzly nearly crushed him with his weight, both of them falling back to the ground. The strange band around his waist tore away but Grizzly couldn’t move to claw the one by his arm off.

_“What the hell are you?”_

Even more pressing the human was still with him, having rolled out from under Grizzly. Strangely, he didn’t feel the urge to growl or bare his teeth. He could scent panic, adrenaline, even a small curdling of fear from the human. Then slowly those scents began to wane and what Grizzly smelled was unique to the human himself.

The human smelled like autumn leaves and spices. It made his fur prickle. Had Grizzly forgotten the scent of spice until now?

_“Listen, okay, listen to me. I don’t know what you are but I’m pretty damn sure you don’t want to die out here anymore than I want you to…..”_

He had a deep voice, this human. A nice voice, it shaped the sounds he made into soothing words. Words Grizzly felt of a mind to listen to.

_“So whatever you did to change into this, I need you to change back so I can carry you….”_

Words he could understand, even with his furry ears. Barks and huffs were nice too but it had been so long since he’d heard a human’s voice he wanted to listen to.

_“Please, don’t make me leave you out here.”_

Grizzly made a moaning noise in his throat. Moving his front paws and belly hurt, he knew he needed something. The human didn’t smell like a threat, not like the other five. But he wanted Grizzly to shed his skin…

A fleshy hand touched his right front paw. So much smaller than Grizzly’s, weaker, but he felt something in that touch. A message.

It hummed: _It’s okay. Trust me._

Huffing with his nose, Grizzly curled as best he could and began to shift.

 

+

 

Consciousness came back to Eames in gradual lapses. He felt something solid and cold around him, knew he had to have been moved from the forest to…somewhere. Somewhere not quite big enough to hold his entire body, his legs were elevated and stretched out.

Voices filtered in and out of his head. Two masculine, one of which he recognized.

_“The bullet he took to the shoulder went in and out…his left side though…I’m gonna need some tweezers…”_

One he didn’t.

_“Are you sure you’re up to this kind of operation? It ain’t exactly like patching up the dogs….”_

_“…Well I’ve patched up more than dogs, just not in a few years. Did you get the painkillers? He’s going to need them…”_

There was a third voice, this one softer, feminine.

_“For our sake Arthur let’s hope it’s like riding a bike. One hole was more than enough to have to dig…”_

“ _And I do appreciate you doing that for me Ari, very much.”_

 _“Just don’t make a habit out of it._ ”

A laugh then, husky. “ _I wouldn’t dare._ ”

Eames groaned, the few spots of vision he had flaring with white hot pain. A gloved hand was pressing on his stomach, and something metal pieced into the hole near his ribs, deeper and deeper, until it latched onto that metal buried inside him.

He tried to lurch forward, to get away, but a firm hand pressed on his uninjured shoulder. Surprisingly, strong to push Eames back.

“Easy,” the man said, the one who must be Arthur. “You need to hold still until I get this out of you.”

Eames moaned, his throat felt cracked and dry, his body tensing up as the bullet was slowly extracted from him. He closed his eyes until he felt it come out and when he opened them he could see clearly. A bathtub, he was in a bathtub. And Arthur was sitting on the rim, hands gloved and silver tweezers depositing the bullet into a plastic bag.

Growling, Eames’ surged forward again, casting his pain aside as he grabbed ahold of Arthur’s neck, hard. He might be wearing his human skin, but his strength was still double that of any man. Arthur’s eyes widened for a moment, before he schooled his features into an icy glare. Eames barely gave him enough room to breathe.

Still, that stare held his attention. Even when he sensed someone moving forward, before he heard the click of what he recognized all too well was the safety being switched off a gun, Eames was too distracted by staring at Arthur for a moment before he glanced to his left.

Face to face with the barrel of a semi-automatic, being held by a slim, young girl. Woman maybe, but she had the build and appearance of a nubile youth.

The tendons in Arthur’s neck shifted under Eames’ grip as he raised a hand. “Ariadne wait! Don’t shoot.”

Ariadne’s trigger finger stayed in place. “Only if he lets you go.”  Her expression was so severe it seemed to add years of age to her cherubic face. Definitely a woman. One Eames didn’t doubt would put a bullet in him.

Eames’ grip on Arthur’s throat hadn’t faltered, but he did switch his gaze from the gun barrel to him. There was still that cool, though also agitated look in Arthur’s eyes. He eased the pressure, just slightly.

“You heard her.” Arthur said, dry even with the strain on his vocal chords. “Doesn’t make much sense for you get this far just to have your head blown off, does it?”

Eames jerked his hand away with a grunt, immediately regretting the action when pain flared just as hot as ever through his body. Arthur was unmoved, shook his head as Ariadne clicked the safety back on her pistol.

“Hell of a thanks for me making sure you don’t bleed out or die of infection.” Arthur muttered, glancing up at Eames before returning to his work. “You also owe me a new flannel shirt, and jeans.” A larger man with wild curly hair standing by a wall-mounted sink handed Arthur a brown bottle and Eames was given no warning before Arthur summarily poured a more than generous amount of antiseptic alcohol over the wound to his shoulder and his side.

Eames bit his lip savagely, breaking through the skin, bucking forward from the sting. _Bloody bastard_.

Arthur snorted. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He’d spoken aloud. Looking away, Eames frowned. Apparently two years in Grizzly’s skin was long enough for his usual conversation finesse to disintegrate drastically. It still felt like his flesh was worn on him too tight, never mind the stinging sparks he felt as his wounds were sewed up with needle and thread.

At that point Eames remembered he’d been naked when he’d shifted into his human form, but glancing down at his torso he found himself partially covered with a red bathing towel.

“Need to thank Ariadne for that mate,” The man at the sink told him, shaking his head with a grin. “She was the only one of us thinking of your modesty.”

Ariadne finally placed her gun in a holster slung around her hip. “Of course I was. _You_ were too busy making comparisons. And Arthur-“

Arthur coughed, cutting off their exchange. His cheeks were pink as he nodded towards them. “That’s Yusuf and Ariadne, and you’ve probably worked out by now that I’m Arthur.” He took his eyes off Eames’ shoulder to glance at his face. “You got a name?”

Eames blinked, his jaw twitching. The lengthy beard he’d grown itched against his skin and his thick chest hair wasn’t matted with blood as he’d expected. He must have been hosed down in the tub, explained why he was wet. All these details were coming to him much slower than they used to.

That aside, he was unsettled. He didn’t know if the other two knew what he was but Arthur had seen him shift into Grizzly. It made his desire to bolt up and flee fierce, but he didn’t have any idea where he was. Save for being in the state of Montana and it hurt to even flex his left arm or breathe with the wound to his side.

“’M only here til I’m healed.” He managed to say, the words sounding messy and jumbled with his accent. Eames didn’t miss the eyebrows that were raised at his voice.

“That’s good to know, if a little presumptuous,” Arthur said, frowning. “But it doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“Name doesn’t matter.” Eames held Arthur’s stare, his message clear. _It’s none of your damn business_.

And to that Arthur huffed, looking almost in disbelief. “Well stranger, let me explain something to you. This is my property you’re on, my bathtub you’re sitting in right now and my couch you’ll be sleeping on. I could’ve just drove you to Great Falls and dropped you off on a street corner, never mind the hospital. What I’m saying is, I’ve done you quite a few favors tonight.” His gaze went cold again, it made Eames want to shiver if it weren’t for his words raising his hackles. “You owe me. A name isn’t much of a high price.”

A growl, deep and primal, was trapped in Eames’ throat. He felt gooseflesh rise on his arms and legs with his anger. It wasn’t as if he’d asked Arthur for his help, but he wasn’t ungrateful for it. The prying however, that could become a problem but Eames wasn’t of a mind to stick around for long enough that Arthur got his life story. He couldn’t risk a hospital, too many questions, and once they got a look at his blood work…

He needed to lie low. This house he found himself on was remote, off-road. For now, he’d make nice. To a point.

Eames tampered down his growl, but he sure didn’t look pleased when he rumbled off, “ ‘s Eames.”

Arthur’s smile was tight, not near enough to his eyes to be anything but put on. Beneath the bruising ring around his neck, Eames noticed for the first time the dog tags were gone. “Alright Eames.” Arthur took off his sterile gloves, pitching them into a waste can. Yusuf tossed Arthur a bottle of pills and he quickly unscrewed the cap, offering Eames three. “These are pain killers, you definitely won’t be sleeping without them. My rooms outside this one, you just need to walk straight through to get to the couch. Yusuf’s been nice enough to offer a pair of sweats for you to wear and there’s a quilt on the couch. Do me a favor; try not to fuck with that stitching I did.”

“And also stay this way the whole night.” Ariadne cut in, sounding wary. At Eames’ stare she pressed on. “You didn’t look like this when Arthur pulled up.” She gestured up and down his body and Yusuf snorted, though he was now looking at Eames with open curiosity.

 _Fuck_.

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, again with a dry tone Eames suspected was his trademark. “There’s that. We all saw you change back and forth in the bed of my truck. That something you can get under control? Or should I pitch a tent outside?”

“It’s under control,” Eames snapped.

To his relief Arthur gave a curt nod and stood up, holding a first-aid kit. “Let’s clear out.” He told Ariadne and Yusuf. “It’s after 9 and we still got work to do tomorrow.”

Eames didn’t let the tension seizing him ease until they were out of sight, the door shut behind them. Breathing in deep, he laid his head back on the tub, stared up at white ceiling and bright overhead light.

A long look at the room told him he definitely hadn’t winded up in the home of someone who wasn’t well off. The tub itself was undoubtedly vintage- clawfoot probably, like the sink, with a more modern showerhead attached to the wall.

Given that he’d been dragged out of a roadless forest, Eames was certain he must be on private property. Property that apparently belonged to Arthur.

Carefully, Eames pieced all the details he’d noticed together to try and get a better feel for the man who’d saved him. The dog-tags were an obvious telling of a military background, and the fact that Arthur had shot a man in the neck from such a good distance in the heavily wooded area while the sun was falling…definitely some sniper training. Maybe some background as a hunter, given the bloodhounds, but it took a particular sort of man to shoot to kill then step over a warm corpse without giving it so much as a backwards glance.

He’d also patched Eames up like he’d just gotten off the field, with total confidence in his steady hands. Hands that before they’d slipped into gloves were rough with a few callouses. Arthur had to be involved in some kind of daily physically laborious task, maybe ranching, given the 9 pm curfew. But Eames hadn’t smelled anything while in the back of his pretty sizeable truck but wood chips and bark.

A lumberjack of sorts then. A damn successful lumberjack if his interior décor was anything to go by. And a condescending arse to boot.

Eames felt…curious, an emotion he quickly shut down. He didn’t need to know anything more about Arthur than he already did. What he needed to do was heal then get back on the road to Canada. Now that he’d had some time to think Eames thought he had some idea how to approach him.  Sleep would help him readjust to what it meant to live in this skin, rebuild his defenses.

Right now he felt too vulnerable. As Eames struggled to stand in the tub, he pointedly kept his gaze off the large mirrors above the sink. His hair was too long and his beard unkempt, but that was to be expected and he didn’t have to look at his reflection to know it.  Instead Eames counted the tiles lining the floor, swiped the sweatpants laid on the sink and gingerly sat on the toilet to slip into them.

He managed to get into them, though they were just a size or two too big around his waist. Eames was a bulky man in human form, not unlike Grizzly’s mass. In fact it surprised him they’d even gotten him down inside that tub. As such, he had to roll the waistline up a couple times to keep the thick patch of hair over his groin from showing.

 

_“She was the only one of us thinking of your modesty.”_

 

Eames’ prick was well above average length. Thick and long even while flaccid, and only grew larger when he was hard. Staring at the hair trailing down his abdomen, Eames thought back to whatever statement Ariadne was about to make about Arthur, and his convenient cough…

 

It didn’t matter. Eames shook his head and made for the door.

 

He wasn’t here to make acquaintances. He was just lying low.

 

+

 

Since he wasn’t looking to case the house for potentially valuable items or easy escape routes, and he needed to squash the curl of curiosity he felt once and for all Eames didn’t give much attention to his surroundings as he made his way through Arthur’s room.  But he couldn’t just cancel out his all werebear senses, parts of them stayed in place no matter what form he took.

 

So he noticed there was still movement going on beyond the room and he left it learning Arthur’s bedroom had fresh pine cones in it, and his sheets smelled of crisp cinnamon detergent.

 

The russet brown wooden flooring of Arthur’s bedroom was mirrored in the room Eames stepped into. Immediately he caught site of a living room suite and a very plush looking sofa-bed already unfolded, a pillow and the promised quilt (oddly enough, patterned with the French national flag) laid out on top the mattress. He took one step forward, only to stop when a large, barking dog scampered towards him.

 

Now Eames, he was fond of dogs. Had several growing up. But Grizzly on the other hand…he was growling before he could stop himself.

 

“Duchess!” Arthur called out, appearing from an adjoining entryway that, when Eames stepped closer to the sofa, saw was an open kitchen space. “Duchess cut that out!” He gave Eames a look that was mildly apologetic. “She always barks with new people.”

 

“Protective,” Eames mused quietly, letting the hound sniff at his feet and legs. Apparently he met her approval, as her tail went from straight stiff to wagging.

 

Arthur came down the steps from the kitchen entryway, head tilted as he watched Duchess. Another bloodhound followed closely behind him.

 

“Hmm, she took to you faster than I expected. This is Duke,” Arthur scratched the hound beside him behind its ears. “And that’s Duchess of course. By the way I wouldn’t growl at them, seeing as how they’re the ones who helped me find you.”

 

“You named your bloodhounds Duke and Duchess?” Eames grimaced as he sat on the sofa. The mattress was foam, a small luxury he was silently grateful for.

 

“Yeah, and?”

 

Eames scratched the back of his head, shrugging. “Just not the most imaginative names.”

 

“Thank you for your unsolicited opinion.” Arthur crossed his arms. He was still dressed in the clothes he’d found Eames in, blood streaking his gray tank and blue jeans. Still no dog tags though.

 

That missing detail irked Eames. “What happened to your tags?” He asked, immediately regretting the inquiry when Arthur’s brow rose.

 

But he only shrugged. “Must have broken them off in the woods when you went all grizzly bear on me.”

 

“Ah, well,” Eames wanted to end this conversation quick before Arthur could start asking questions.

“Thanks, for what you did for me.”

 

To his relief, Arthur’s expression softened. “You’re welcome. I’ve a feeling you know it’s going to be at least a week before you’re good to go discreetly with those injuries. I don’t plan on charging you for the stay, but you aren’t just going to lay on my couch and eat my food for seven days. When you’re well enough there are some minor tasks you can do to pay your fare, so to speak. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

 

“You an early riser then?”

 

“Comes with the job territory.”

 

Eames almost asked what exact “job” Arthur was referring to but stopped himself. He’d likely find out in the morning regardless. It didn’t concern him. What he needed to do now was get some rest.

 

Arthur seemed to be on the same wavelength. He flicked off a light switch and headed towards his room with a nod to Eames in parting. If his gaze happened to linger on Eames’ bare chest and hips, Eames didn’t dwell on it. Duke and Duchess settled on two dog beds by the window, not far from where he was laid out. It didn’t escape his notice that the door to Arthur’s room never closed.

 

So he wasn’t being welcome with total open arms. In a way that was reassuring, he’d been unsettled by the charity to a degree. It didn’t make sense for a man who seemed to be the type of man Arthur was to take in strangers on the one hand. But then again Eames didn’t have enough information to really be able to place Arthur in a neat little box.

 

And that was fine by him. Really.

 

For a while Eames stared up at the blackness in the room, the ceiling fan he could just make out. Despite the thrum of exhaustion coursing through him, and the painkillers kicking in, he didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

 

 

+

 

 

It was the crisp, crackling noise of something being cooked and the unmistakable scent of meat that roused Eames from his sleep. Even with his stomach rumbling, Eames felt rather sluggish, still bone-tired. Given his injuries and the stress he could easily attribute it to just being physically taxed but he sensed there was more to it than that.

 

He spied a clock hanging above a fireplace in front of the sofa. Nearly 8 am. Eames groaned, nearly pulling the quilt over his face to block out the sunlight filtering in through the windows. But he was also famished.

 

“Morning,” Arthur’s bare feet padded softly across the floor. Eames wouldn’t have heard him if not for his advanced hearing. “You’re up faster than I was expecting. In more ways than one.”

 

As Arthur sat down on the edge of the sofa Eames looked over him warily. At least he wanted it to be entirely wary. Arthur was dressed in rather tight dark jeans and a black tank that clung to his well-defined chest, exposing muscular arms. Not quite possessing the bulk of a bodybuilder, but likely formed from labor. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t belie the look of someone used to being up at this hour. “You look like shite.” Eames mumbled, keeping his focus away from the mottled bruise around Arthur’s throat.

 

Arthur gave him a snort. “That makes two of us. Staying half awake all night making sure the guy on your couch doesn’t turn into a grizzly bear will do that to you.”

 

“Told you, I have it under control.”

 

“I can’t exactly just take your word for it.” Arthur pointedly waved a hand at his neck. This close Eames could see the handle of a Glock tucked into his waistband.“So what are you then, something like a werewolf?”

 

The renewed inquiry irked Eames, he grunted and at first that was as much of a response as he’d give. But then he reconsidered, he’d turned into Grizzly right in front of Arthur and his house mates. Not particularly something one saw on a daily basis. If he wanted to lie low here until he’d recovered, he’d have to give Arthur the bare necessities to ease his mind.

 

“Sort of. Werebear. None of the full moon shifts or allergies to silver though.”

 

“So you just what?” Arthur handed Eames a hot mug. “Change into a bear whenever you feel like it? That’s tea by the way.”

 

Pierce Rodderick, an identity Eames once fabricated to embezzle a shipping company out of millions, only drank coffee and always black. Eames favored tea, but only true English tea and what Arthur was serving him in a mug was definitely not it. Making his way back into the kitchen, Arthur missed the mild look of disgust Eames surely made after taking the first sip. He kept his eyes above Arthur’s waist.

 

“Yeah,” Eames grumbled, scratching at his beard, “That’s pretty much how it works. Sometimes werebears shift automatically during hibernation season, but that’s usually just the young ones.”

 

He stood carefully, grunting at the fresh surge of pain now that the pills had run through his system. He’d heal faster than any human with two bullet wounds should thanks to his cross species nature but still wasn’t the best idea to be on his feet. But that restless tick hadn’t left him, and staying bedridden for days was a maddening prospect.

 

So, mug in hand, Eames followed Arthur’s path into the kitchen and sat down on a stool in front of a sleek island. Though he nodded his head, Arthur’s back was too him as he tended to what Eames could see were frying eggs, sausage and bacon on a stove and pancakes on a griddle.

 

“What about you? Do you still have to clock out during the winter months?” Arthur’s tone had lost its cautious edge.

 

Eames fiddled with the handle of his mug, feeling restless. “Just for two.”

 

Through the window in front of Arthur, Eames saw a log house with a large piece of machinery leading up to shaft beside the doors. Something to be thankful for, his nearsightedness diminished when he shifted out of Grizzly’s form. That was definitely some kind of sawmill. And an ample conversation changer.

 

When Arthur turned to face him, Eames nodded towards the outside building. “You some kind of lumberjack?”

 

“Independent logger,” Arthur corrected, not commenting on the blatant divergence other than giving Eames a brief look. “Yusuf and Ariadne are part of my team; and like it or not you’ll be meeting two more of them shortly. The others usually meet us at the work site, unless they’re staying for a meal.”

 

There wasn’t much Eames could say that Arthur wouldn’t already be able to guess from the blank expression he schooled his features in. He gave a curt nod and focused on his tea as Arthur retrieved a stack of plates from the cabinets.

 

“I’ve got sausage, bacon, eggs, pancakes and some strawberries and peach yogurt.” He set the plates down near Eames’ elbow, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “We do this first come, first serve assembly line. Yusuf and Ari will be down in about eight minutes, so you better make your choice quick. Tell me what you want and I’ll fix your plate.”

 

After two years of living off a diet of salmon, honey, deer, rabbits and pilfered scraps from garbage bags and camp sites Eames was positively ravenous for the meal Arthur cooked. It didn’t matter that the eggs and pancakes were burnt or the bacon a tad underdone, he scooped as much into his mouth as his fork would hold. In the brief moments he paused to look up, Arthur was watching him with an amused grin.

 

Footsteps carried down the stairway beside the kitchen. Eames had to stop himself from buffing his chest out and growling. This was definitely not his territory.

 

“I guess a part of me was wondering if last night was kind of a fever dream.” Yusuf regarded Eames with a nod that was pleasant enough, if surprised. Even so, Eames felt like he was being studied like the scientific oddity he was as Yusuf fixed his plate and sat beside him.

 

“Twenty milligrams of oxycodone, ten milligrams of diazepam and yet you’re only showing minor signs of fatigue.” Yusuf whistled before taking a swig of orange juice. He had on a gray hoodie and jeans. Eames would have to pry out a shirt from him, likely. “That is impressive.”

 

“Yusuf!” Arthur snapped.

 

Yusuf had the decency to look somewhat apologetic but it was too late. “I thought you were going to tell him!”

 

Kyle Montgomery, one of Eames’ earliest false identities, had made a small fortune peddling pills and other controlled substances to California suburban mums and their kids shortly after Eames’ father cut him out of his inheritance. He recognized both the names Yusuf gave immediately and growled at Arthur.

 

“You gave me OxyContin and Valium?”

 

“Calm down,” Arthur said, leaning his hip against the kitchen island. He didn’t shy away from Eames’ anger. “I knew there was a good chance I’d be taking one or more bullets out of you so I gave you the strongest stuff we had. And in case you’ve forgotten, you turned into a damn grizzly bear. I wanted to be certain you slept the whole night.”

 

Eames laughed then, not kindly. Because while Arthur’s defense was plausible it was also utter bollocks. “Both those drugs come in tablet form and you gave me capsules. I’m not an idiot; you had them crushed up and placed in capsules well before you started patching me up.”

 

“And after _you_ gave me this,” Arthur once again pointed to his bruised throat, “I don’t feel guilty.”

 

“Sorry for that. Somehow though I doubt you would even if I hadn’t of wrung your neck.” Eames grumbled.

 

Arthur blinked at him. “Well you’re not wrong. Anyway the pills did their work, right? You ought to be bedridden; what is there to complain about?”

 

That apparently Eames had tumbled out of the woods into the home of a man willing to kill a person without batting an eyelash, a woman who would bury a dead body, and a man with no qualms about doping up a complete stranger.

 

Of course, such dubious morals weren’t out of the ordinary considering the crowd Eames had run with and was still in the process of running _from_.

 

As if taking Eames’ silence as an apparent indicator that the issue was settled, Arthur turned back to the counter and began making another plate. Just as he was setting the plate on the island Ariadne came down the stairs. Like Arthur, she wore flannel – though hers was blue and purple to Arthur’s red and black, a tank and jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She paused on the steps leading to the kitchen, looking over all of them.

 

“Take it I didn’t miss anything particularly pleasant?”

 

“Nope,” Arthur said, sliding the plate he’d fixed to the last stool. “Consider it a small blessing you take long showers.”

 

Eames swallowed down yet another growl, chewing on his sausage in a decidedly disgruntled manner. “No more OxyContin from now on.” He told Arthur, his voice rough.

 

Arthur’s smile wasn’t anything sinister, but it wasn’t exactly nice either. “We can work with that.”

 

But Eames wasn’t entirely settled. “What are you going to do about the men you shot at?”  
  


“If that guy's friends are smart they won’t come trespassing on my property again. The type of hunters I’ve found on my land aren’t exactly the kind to make nice with the authorities.”

 

“This is your land?”

 

“280 acres of it is.” Arthur said proudly. “Including parts of the surrounding forest where we log our douglas-fir.”

 

Eames nodded, a bit impressed as he shoveled more pancakes into his mouth. He couldn’t be older than his late twenties, the land must be a family heirloom. But it said something that Arthur was apparently running his own business and tending to the land with only a small band of hired help.

 

Beside him Ariadne snickered and when Eames glanced up Arthur was looking at him strangely. His  fingers twitched under the scrutiny.

 

“What is it?” He finally asked, uneasy.

 

“That’s the second time you’ve made that noise.” Arthur said. “In the forest last night you _huffed_ at me too.”

 

Eames shrugged but inwardly his nerves were frayed. Huffing was a noise bears made during courtship but no one in this kitchen damn well needed to know that fact. He himself didn’t want to dwell on what it meant.

 

“I was thanking you-”

 

“In grizzly speak?” Yusuf interjected.

 

“Yeah,” Eames kept his tone easy but it took some effort. He wouldn’t be back to his usual finesse in conversation so quickly. “In grizzly speak.”

 

Thankfully, Arthur didn’t press the issue.

 

+

 

According to Ariadne and Yusuf, burnt pancakes and underdone bacon were a staple of Arthur’s breakfast meals.

 

“It’s very rude of you to talk shit about the cooking technique of the person who keeps serving you meals you still eat.” Arthur said with a frown, after Yusuf had finished lamenting to Eames the late arrival of one of the women who regularly played savior to Arthur’s breakfasts.

 

Ariadne inclined her head in agreement, taking a sip of her tea, “I’m only being honest Arthur, You’re the one who keeps stressing there is always room for improvements in our work. Besides your cooking isn’t bad all around.”

 

Yusuf nodded vigorously, “The other day Arthur and Ntobi made barbecued ribs with baked beans, homemade macaroni and cheese, baked potatoes and freshly cut salad. There was nothing to complain about with that meal.”

 

“You’ll give a gold star to anything Ntobi has a hand in cooking,” Arthur said with a sly smile. Ariadne laughed as Yusuf swallowed down some coffee, not saying a word of refute.

 

Eames perked up, not at the mention of yesterday’s cuisine, but the rumble of an approaching engine and tires from outside. The same could be said for Arthur, who broke out in the softest smile Eames had seen so far from him.

 

“Right on time,” Arthur said, leaving the kitchen for the front door. “Mal, Dom, good morning.” Eames heard him say, before the door closed.

 

A woman with Botticelli curves and short, curled brown hair emerged at the kitchen entryway, her eyes a piercing blue hue. She was taller than Ariadne and clad in a long sleeved gray dress that reached her knees, her black flats keeping her footsteps light as she came up the steps.

 

“You must be the guest Arthur told us about.” She said to Eames, in an accent that was undeniably French.  Her floral perfume carried from where she stood.

 

Eames nodded and had to take another swig of his awful tea to collect himself. She was frankly so beautiful she looked out of place for these neck of the woods. Better suited for his former life of heists, high-society and red lips that smiled sharp enough to cut.

 

“Mallorie Cobb,” Eames took her proffered hand when she made her way to the island.

 

Her smile was pleasant enough but Eames had made a career in observation and shrewd social awareness. It was easy  to come to the conclusion the quilt from earlier was likely something she’d given Arthur; there was a history there beyond work colleagues. As well as to note her wedding ring. He also got the distinctive sense he was being assessed in turn. Not to such an overt degree as to come off as rude however.

 

His tone matched hers. “Eames.”

 

“An Englishman?” Mal looked pleasantly surprised, she turned back towards the entryway. “Arthur, you always leave out the most interesting details.”

 

Arthur called out a brief apology. He was still talking with this Dom fellow, whom Eames was sure would be sporting a matching wedding ring when he came around. His scent was merged with Mal’s perfume too thick to be caused from them simply riding together. Either way, Eames didn’t like the smell of him.

 

“He’s just a guest Dom,” Arthur was saying, surprisingly patient. “Only here until he’s patched up. I’m not adding him to the team.”

 

“Good,” Dom said, with a particular brusque tone to his American accent that only irked Eames further. “You definitely can’t afford to split our wages eight ways.”

 

“And I won’t be Dominick. But thank you for stating what I already knew.”

 

Arthur emerged at the entryway with Dom in tow. Sure enough there was a wedding ring on his finger. He had a kind of indistinctive attractiveness to him. And was openly frowning at the sight of Eames’ bare chest. Eames surprised himself by having to yet again take another swig of his tea to swallow down a growl welling in his throat. What came out was more of a badly gurgled cough.

 

“Is he alright?” Dom pointedly asked Arthur rather than Eames.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Aside from the recent stitching and your lack of courtesy, yes Dom, Eames is alright.”

 

Luckily, it turned out Dominick was not the Cobb he’d be spending the day with.

 

+

 

Before he left to join Yusuf, Cobb, and Ariadne in their small fleet of vehicles, Arthur had not so surreptitiously passed his Glock along to Mal. When Eames caught Arthur’s eye he shrugged.

 

“Just in case you go call of the wild, as Ari refers to it.” He said. “And I’d encourage you to keep to your word that you’ve got this shifting thing under control. It wouldn’t be Mal’s first time shooting.”

 

“Don’t be so modest Arthur.” Mal grinned, strapping the glock to a holster around her left thigh. “I’m as a good a hunter as he is in fact.” She patted something heavy underneath her side of the kitchen island Eames didn’t have to imagine was anything but a bigger gun. “And I can handle firearms that don’t come with a lady grip.”

 

Duke was sniffing around the kitchen island for scraps, occasionally pausing to scent Eames’ bare feet as he gingerly slipped into a button up flannel shirt Yusuf had donated to him. Eames scratched his beard, frowning.

 

“So she knows then?” He asked, scooting his mug forward.

 

“Arthur shared a very...peculiar video Yusuf filmed last night.” Mal said and at Eames’ raised brow she calmly went on. “Believe it or not I deleted the video from my phone after watching it.”

 

Arthur stepped in. “You can’t just expect me to leave you alone with Mal and not fill her in with the info. Especially information most people would laugh at outright.”

 

Eames rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the pulse of a headache forming. The information age put every single were-species in a state of high alert. Whereas before anyone claiming to have witnessed a man changing into an animal could easily be written off as the local town loony or drunk who’d kicked back a few too many, video evidence was a lot more compelling than word of mouth. Sure there was always the go-to rebuttal that the whole ordeal was a cleverly staged hoax, but seeing was believing and for many it only took one good viewing to be convinced.

 

So Arthur had a point, but that point just happened to put Eames in an even more uncomfortable spot with him. Did Arthur delete the video from his phone? Did Yusuf? Would either of them try to use it to extort something from Eames?

 

“Mal’s the only other person who's seen the video.” Arthur added. “Dom already has dozens of Roswell documentaries he owns, there’s no need to voluntarily validate his wild theories.”

 

Mal clicked her tongue, smacking Arthur’s arm playfully. “Dom is a visionary, forays into the absurd are part of his personality. And given your newest lodger, aliens don’t seem quite as absurd as they might have before.”  

 

Eames snorted at that before he could stop himself. He shrugged at Mal but she appeared more bemused than offended.

 

“Alright,” Arthur said. “We’re going to finish delimbing that fir, then we’ll have to get started on the pine in the back lot. I’ll need your help roping it. I got a text from Mr. Saito. He wants some traditionally chopped firewood this time around. ”

 

“Interesting request,” Mal replied, not looking entirely pleased. “Of course that does mean extra money in our paychecks.”

 

Arthur kissed her cheek. “Exactly.”

 

“Tell Ntobi she has to stop by so I can thank her for the dress she made Phillipa.” Mal called out as Arthur left. She leaned against the kitchen island, hand on her hip as she turned her attention back towards Eames. “Since you’re not in any sort of state to lend me a hand, it’s probably best you just go lie back down. Remotes on the coffee table by the couch.”

 

There was no sense arguing with her and Eames didn’t want to talk to Mal if he didn’t have to. She had this quality about her, a hypnotic charm that made Eames feel he could spill his every thought and secret to her, all while asking for nothing in return but her presence. Two years he’d been wandering in Grizzly’s skin, he wasn’t ready to handle that sort of danger with ease. Those fatale eyes of hers, he needed distance and readily accepted her suggestion, nodding politely as he hobbled off the stool towards the main room.

 

From the kitchen where Eames guessed she’d be doing her work in, Mal had a full view of the area she’d more or less assigned him to occupy. Smart woman.

 

As he settled back onto the sofa, something told Eames there were a number of more available concealed firearms in Mal’s vicinity. There was a sense of hyper vigilance to Arthur that Eames had no doubt was borne from his time in the service. That peculiar American brand of it that called for shoving as many loaded guns into whatever hiding space one could conceive of. Not that he hadn’t done much the same in the last property he’d purchased under his real name. Eames pushed the memory of how that particular estate had met its demise away, reaching for the remote.

 

He watched the news for about an hour, just to get up to date with the current information of the day. Remember appropriate terms and transaction methods. It was startling how much he’d underestimated the long term effects of living in Grizzly’s skin. As his body healed from his wounds, Eames’ mind was also in a state of recovery. At some point he’d need to gain access to the internet.

 

He’d made it from northern California all the way to Montana. Canada was just a mountain range away and with it all his stash of savings, false identities and passports within arm’s reach. His chance to start fresh again.

 

Back in the kitchen, Mal had a spread of files, papers, and a laptop on the kitchen island. She was currently on the phone with, from what Eames through eavesdropping, a client.

 

“Unfortunately it's well past allotted time Mr. Davidson allows for you to make alterations to your shipment sir.” A slow smiled curled on her lips as she let the person stew over the phone before continuing. “Unless of course, you’re willing to pay an additional fee, twenty percent increase off the original closing cost, as well as the new prices to account for your requests. Yes, I understand you’re a relatively small paper mill but so is our logging company. It's necessary for us to take into account the toll this will have on our laborers.” She tapped her nails against the island top. Her smile grew. “I’ll fax you a copy of the new finance totals within the hour.”

 

Eames lost himself in the local and international news for a little while longer, until the constant recycled feed of information was like a horsefly buzzing in his ear. He was still in pain, still had to handle himself with care. But he was restless. It wasn’t hard for him to be patient when he was casing a mark for his next big score but when he physically had no other option but to lie back and wait it grated his nerves.

 

“There any fags in this place?” Eames groused lightly.

 

Mal didn’t pause from her typing as she answered. “Afraid not. Arthur hates the smell of cigarette smoke. As well as receiving second hand smoke; it's bad for work performance.”

 

Eames barely contained his laugh. “Sounds like a real stick in the mud.”

 

Mal’s gaze turned keen then, and Eames made sure not to show his discomfort as she hummed. “Oh he can be, but take the time to get to know him and you’ll find there’s far more to him than that.”

 

He didn’t like the suggestion in her tone, however casual it was. They fell into a light silence, as it was clear neither was going to say more. It wasn’t until Duke and Duchess were both padding around the kitchen, whining that Mal tsked.

 

Moving from the kitchen to the front door, she opened it and let them slip outside. It was an easy opportunity for an out that Eames wasn’t going to let pass.

 

“I could keep an eye on them out there,” He suggested, hefting himself up carefully. “Make sure they don’t wander too far.”

 

“They always find their way back here,” Mal said, but she shrugged, taking a whistle off the coat hangers beside the door and bringing it to Eames. “Thats for if they’re not back in an hour. There’s a rocking chair on the front patio you  can sit in.”

She made sure to stay behind Eames as he made his way from the sofa-bed to the door. A healthy dose of precaution, Eames was liking this woman more and more.

 

Once outside, in broad daylight, Eames finally had a chance to survey the area he’d found himself crashing. On the far right was a section of trees close to a wood shed. There was the sawmill he’d seen earlier, and off to the left a larger shed likely used to store logging equipment. Eames had watched through the window as Dominick rode out on what Mal told him was a forwarder while Yusuf and Ariadne passed by in a pair of harvesters. He could hear the sound of machinery working off in the distance and it was possible to see a clearing in the the surrounding forest where they must have rode off.

 

Either way, as Duke and Duchess circled each other playfully throughout the premise, Eames knew he was out of sight, though definitely not out of mind. A part of him wanted to be able to jump at the chance to take off, away from all these people who already knew too much about him. But with his injuries shifting into Grizzly’s form wouldn’t be a wise idea until he was fully healed.

 

And there was something else keeping him here. Something about these people that piqued his curiosity despite his need to stay isolated.

 

What kind of man was willing to kill to save a stranger?

 

_(Nobody Eames had met in a long time, not unless they wanted something…)_

 

What kind of woman was willing to bury a body for a friend?

 

_(Oh he knew plenty of women from his past: Bianca, Kim, Shareese to name a few…)_

 

Why on Earth were they keeping his true nature a secret?

 

_(Where was the con? What did they really want from him?)_

  
Bugger all his conflicting instincts. Eames wanted to leave as soon as possible. But he also wanted to figure these people out, find out what their game was. No matter what neck of the woods he found himself in, people were always after something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In lieu of some personal issues that have been interfering considerably with my ability to write, I decided to make this story a three part story as I know people have been waiting quite some time for an update.

 

Fresh air alone was all well and good, but Eames knew himself well to be a restless person. Hibernation was pretty much the only thing that managed to make him stop to just stay put in one place for an extended amount of time. He was also a dogged, though subtle nib-noser but who could blame him? He had to gain some higher footing with these people, and gaining knowledge about his surroundings was one of many ways to do so. Exploring the house was out of the question while Mal was still in it, but he had the entire outdoor premises to himself for the time being.

He did a slow, assessing walk around, taking in each little detail and characteristic of Arthur’s property. When he had his fill, Eames relaxed into the rocking chair on the patio, grateful for its cushioned seat. Closing his eyes, he could smell Duke and Duchess coming up to him. They laid on either side of his chair, their tails thumping against the wood.

Eames began to doze, in spite of the persistent throb of pain from his wounds. He wasn’t sure how long he drifted on the patio, lazily listening to the creak of his chair but when he caught Mal’s scent coming near and roused himself into full alertness he had a feeling it had been at least a couple hours.

“You’ll be much more comfortable on the sofa-bed,” She suggested from the doorway, a few pills held in her hand. “Arthur told me you’d probably need more Valium by lunch time.”

Arthur wasn’t wrong. By now Eames’ pain level had grown enough it was sheer exhaustion that had kept him woozy. For all he’d done was make a few laps around and eat, but the body tended to want to run as little as possible while wounded. Even with his accelerated healing. Eames grunted, swallowing a chuff and any other Grizzly noise as he made his way back inside.

This time Mal didn’t need to politely nudge him towards the sofa-bed. He sat down carefully, taking the pills and glass of water from her with a grateful nod. Waiting for the drugs to take effect, Eames turned on the television once more, watching European news stations until he drifted off into a sedated sleep.

When he awoke it was to the sound of several vehicles pulling up. He could hear Mal’s feather light footsteps pattering about the kitchen. Smelled the candle she was burning. Hickory and walnuts.

She opened the door as Eames was rousing himself into an upright seating position, “Chioma, Ntobi, I was hoping you’d come by for dinner tonight.”

Eames not so subtly peered over at the entrance way, where these two new people were embracing Mal. They wore the flannel, weathered jeans, and muddy boots indicative of being a member of Arthur’s logging team. Their skin was richly dark and both of them stood tall. They were strikingly attractive, the kind of individuals Eames used to take great pleasure in charming into his bed.  

“Ahh, so you’re the gentleman Arthur and Yusuf described.” The woman’s white braided hair fell over her shoulders as she waved at him. She had an accent he recognized from his time in Mombasa. “Ntobi Adebowale, this is my husband Chioma.”

Beside her Chioma took off his cap, smoothing a hand over his bald head as he nodded to Eames in greeting. “It is always a pleasure to meet someone equally far from their native lands.”

“Kenya?” Eames guessed, though their accents did not match one anothers. He couldn’t quite decipher a location from Chioma’s.

But Chioma took no offense. Only inclined his head. “For Ntobi, yes. I myself am from Ethiopia. And you?” 

It was an innocent enough question. Simple curiosity over a common ground. Besides it wasn’t as if he was under any obligation to tell them he wasn’t actually born in London. 

“Name’s Eames. I’m a London man myself,” He told them.

Ntobi and Chioma exchanged a quick glance, coy almost. Like a memory was being shared between them. Sure enough Ntobi smiled as she turned back to him.

“We had quite an experience in London before.” She said. “Shame our time there was brief.”

“Oh?” Eames inquired, with some genuine curiosity. Something told him there was quite a story there. 

Chioma laughed however, kissing Ntobi’s shoulder. “Perhaps another time, Ntobi? Once we are certain Eames can withstand our lengthy tales.”

Eames opened his mouth to reply but stopped when he picked up the sound of Arthur, engaged in a rather heated conversation with another person he didn’t recognize. He didn’t like their scent. As Ntobi, Chioma and Mal moved to the kitchen, he scooted further down the sofa and listened further.

“Arthur please, I know you can be a spiteful pain in the ass but I am desperate here.” A man pled.

Arthur gave a snort. “Even if I wanted to take your two timing ass in Nash, I don’t have the room anymore. Your designated spot on the couch has been filled indefinitely.”

“You say that like we’ve never shared a bed before-”

“That was before you hung me out to dry asshole,” There was a genuine trace of danger in Arthur’s voice. “Dom don’t worry about this, I can handle it. Get off my property Nash.”

Arthur began to move into the house, but no more than two steps into the entryway and he was being grabbed and turned around hard. “Baby,” Nash put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, “If you just gave me a fucking chance to explain, actually heard me out, you’d understand the fucking impossible position I was in.” 

Arthur took a deep breath, his mouth opening to hurl out a probable scathing rebuke but he and Nash both froze at the deep, threatening growl that rumbled from Eames’ chest up to his throat. Not his voice at all, but Grizzlys. 

“What.” Nash balked as Arthur stared at Eames. “The hell?” He stuck his head in the door, glaring at Eames. “Who the fuck is _that_?” Something in his tone made Eames want to growl again. Louder. 

Arthur shoved him back so hard Eames could hear him stumble and fall off the patio. “None of your concern. Get out of here and don’t fucking come back.”

Nash cursed all the way back to his vehicle, speeding off with a veritable lead foot on the accelerator. At the doorway Arthur stood with his arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Chioma,” He called towards the kitchen. “Next time I have to choose between someone Dom sets me up with and someone you’d like to set me up with, remind me of Nash.”

Chioma laughed. “I still have Ami’s number if you’re interested?”

“I might take you up on that,” Arthur grumbled without an ounce of sincerity. He turned his attention to Eames. “What the hell was that about?”

Rather than bristle under the irritation, Eames shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest, truly.”

It was all nonchalance, the kind that hinted pursuing the matter for Arthur would be more trouble than it was worth. He stared at Eames for a moment before shrugging, heading back outside. For the first time since getting here Eames felt more comfortable and confident in his human skin

Enough to do a little fishing when Arthur came back.

“I can see why you turned down the extra help.” Eames remarked. “Pretty costly _operation_ you’re running.”

Arthur removed his boots without answering at first. “I pay my taxes like a good law-abiding citizen.” His expression turned coy. He knew Eames suspected him of doing more than just logging. “Can you say the same?”

Eames’ snort was nonchalant. “Not at liberty to say. But law-abiding is a little disingenuous for someone who's recently committed murder don’t you think?”

“Nobody's perfect.” There was a look of downright _mischief_ in Arthur’s eyes. One that Eames would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t charmed by. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meal to cook with Mal and Ntobi. There’s going to be a lot of mouths to feed at the table this evening.”

  


+

 

It was indeed a sumptuous meal the three of them were preparing. Eames could smell duck and lamb, beans, potatoes, rice, and various vegetables. A few times Cobb or Chioma would approach the kitchen offering any assistance, only to be shoed away. Apparently having them lay out the plates and silverware was sufficient enough.

“Why do you guys even bother?” Ariadne smirked around her beer can. “I learned the first week I stayed here that unless specifically asked to pitch in, you’re just getting in the way of the magic.”

Cobb shrugged. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

“My reasons are far less noble,” Chioma said. “I love watching Ntobi work.”

“And you may well meet the business end of my wick if you try to play spectator again, dear husband.” Ntobi called from the kitchen.

They- the banished ones according to Yusuf, were all sequestered in the living area. Eames sitting up on the sofa-bed, Cobb, Chioma and Ariadne on recliners while Yusuf was on the rug, petting Duke and Duchess. So far he’d done a good job of keeping the conversation off the topic of himself.

“You’ve all been on Arthur’s team for a while then?” Eames prompted.

They all nodded. “Ever since he took over the company five years ago.” Cobb said. “Mal and I do part time teaching at a university in Helena-” 

“Which I proudly attended.” Ariadne raised her can. She nudged Yusuf with her foot. “Along with this fellow alumni.”

Cobb smiled at her. “We were all looking for a part time job, Arthur had placed an add in the paper. Mal passed along the word to Yusuf and Ari.”

Eames nodded, absorbing all of this. He turned to Chioma, curious. “And you?”

“Ntobi and I met Arthur while he was vacationing in London,” Chioma took a long drink of his wine. “We’d been wanting to settle in the States, what he told us about Montana stayed with us. You could say we very much followed him back here.”

There was more to that particular story than he was being told, Eames felt. Though he wasn’t sure if it was for the sake of sparing him a long-winded tale or something more suspect.

In any case he was only given a few moments to contemplate it. Arthur emerged in the kitchen entryway. “Dinner’s ready.”

It turned out the dining room was located on the other side of the kitchen and one had to walk through there to get to it. Eames casually rejected Cobb’s proffered hand, got himself off the sofa of his own volition. Got in line to wash his hands before moving into the room.

The dining table was sprawling and held a bounty of food. There was a large, ceiling length window that offered an honestly beautiful view of the outdoors beyond Arthur’s property.

“Guys,” Cobb said as he pulled out Mal’s chair. “Maybe we should fill the newest guest in? Eames has probably only flown over Montana, let alone ate a meal here.”

 _Actually you presumptuous sod_ , Eames thought, _I’ve trekked through Montana before in Grizzly’s form_. He plastered a small smile on his face that gave none of his thoughts away.

Arthur pointed to the seat to the left of his at the head of the table. “You can sit here Eames.” He said. “We made shepherd’s pie, roasted duck, baked potatoes, dinner rolls, brown rice stuffing and goat cheese and arugula over penne.”

“It all looks and smells incredible.” Eames replied, the compliment honest.

Arthur took his plate, “No need to tax your shoulder. We’ll pass it around and put what you’d like on it.” 

Across from him, Eames once again caught Mal staring at them with a small smile, if only briefly. There was one on Ariadne’s face as well. He pretended not to notice either of them. “I’ll  have some of everything.”

“Hearty eater.” Ntobi remarked, approval in her voice.

Yusuf made a noise of the same sentiment. “You’re among kindred spirits here.”

 _Just how much though_ , Eames thought, but proceeded to dive into his meal without making his suspicions widely known.

 

+

 

The remainder of the week passed by with ease. For his part, Eames focused on recovering from his injuries as well as observing the people he was surrounded by. On the surface Arthur’s business seemed legitimate enough, but Eames had been a con man all his adult life. He knew to trust his gut feeling that something just wasn’t adding up about these people.

By Sunday Arthur and his team were still working on a pine tree behind his house. It had been educational to watch at least, Mal roping up the tree, Yusuf and Chioma clearing away the giant loose branches (widowmaker's, so they were called), before Arthur and Dom sawed it down. At least one person was always left in the house with Eames, though he wasn’t keen to stay in all day. He was on the back porch with Yusuf, smoking a fag he’d lent him. 

“Have you got family back in London then?” He asked as he sorted through some files. “I’ve got some folks in Mombasa still.”

Eames hadn’t had contact with his father or step-mother since being disowned at twenty for committing embezzlement. Just as well, he’d always preferred his mother’s maiden name to that of shite father who’d only taken his bastard son in because he had no other heirs to his estate. His real mother, the woman he’d inherited his werebear nature from, had lived in Northern California.

But he nodded anyway. “A few yeah.” Regardless of the fact that he would never consider the Randolph’s family. 

Yusuf gave him a far too knowing look, “Sounds like a man with few individual attachments.”

“And you would know?” Eames arched his brow. 

“Indeed, like I said you’re among kindred here.” His eyes gleamed as he took a swig of lemonade. “Perhaps more than you suspect.”

While Yusuf was distracted by his paperwork, Eames glanced at the scene behind him. Arthur and Ariadne were chopping up wood on a couple of stumps, their grunts echoing. Arthur had on a pair of dark, worn jeans that clung to him, and a tight black t-shirt. Which offered a very good view of the muscles on his biceps and his toned chest. He certainly had the athletic physique of a logger.

It puzzled him though, that they were chopping part of the wood by hand when half the pine had been cut in the sawmill. 

“Break time for me.” Ariadne said, tucking the stray strands of hair that had fallen from her bun back in place. She stacked a freshly chopped logs into her pile, grinning as Arthur continued his work. “Some people have to show off for company…”

“Ari,” Arthur grunted. “Please.”

“Sure thing Arthur.”

She made her way up to their table, pouring herself some lemonade before taking a seat. Eames watched Arthur continue his work before an idea came to him. “Think he might be thirsty?”

Now it was Yusuf’s turn to quirk a grin as Ariadne snorted. “Oh plenty.” She stopped Eames from pouring a glass, “He doesn’t drink anything but water unless he’s finished.”

Eames shrugged off the implication. This was just another opportunity for him to try and cull some more information out of Arthur. If that involved taking advantage of the apparent attraction Arthur’s teammates felt he had for Eames, well it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so. 

He stepped off the patio up towards him. From this close he could see the sweat falling down Arthur’s neck and temple. He ignored it. “Isn’t this manual labor a little unnecessary?”

Arthur huffed out a laugh, pausing with his axe held in the air. “Not exactly. Got a particular client who can have some...eccentric requests at times. Wants to have part of his product look like that extra work went into it.” He stopped to chop the log on the stump, grunting. His jeans tightened around his thighs, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing.

Eames grimaced, though not at the view or sounds.“So he wants half his firewood cut by machine and the other half chopped for the sake of aesthetics? Sounds rather ridiculous.”

“He’s my best client. If he wants to be ridiculous he can be, as long as he’s willing to pay up and I can deliver there's nothing to complain about.”

“If you say so,” Eames put his hands in his sweat pockets, pulling his shoulders subtly to emphasize the fit of the shirt Yusuf had lent him on his chest. Sure enough Arthur’s eyes flickered down from his face, though Eames wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching for it. “Are most your clients big wigs with deep pockets?”

“Well when you’re in this part of Montana and most of the land is privately owned, that’s kind of a given.” Arthur shrugged, chopping another log. “We do have a paper mill client, a table and furniture manufacturer, and we’re always looking for new clients.”

Eames nodded, briefly eyeing the light sheen of sweat on him. “What were you doing before this?”

“Oh you know, freelance work.”

“That’s...incredibly nonspecific.” Eames groused.

To which Arthur arched his brow. “Maybe. What were you doing to find yourself shot on my property?”

“Hiking,” Eames said easily. “Got lost off my path.”

“Right.”

“Don’t believe me darling?” The word rolled off Eames’ tongue so easily it took a moment for him to realize he’d said it. He cursed himself inwardly.

Arthur blinked at him in surprise. “Grizzly bear’s are native here, I’ll give you that. But you don’t seem like a man who was just out enjoying a nature walk.” He crossed his arms. His well-defined forearms. “You seem like a man whose running from something. Or should I say someone?”

Duke and Duchess both began to bark at him then, no doubt smelling how Eames’ hackles were raised. He growled at them instinctively.

“Not the best idea,” Arthur warned, petting each of them behind the ears to try and settle them before Eames got himself more under control. “Look, if you’re in some sort of trouble you can stay here longer if you’re willing to put in some work-”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” Eames bit out. “But you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Arthur looked at him for a long moment, his expression bafflingly sad. “Alright, alright.” He held a hand up. “It’s none of my business. But at least consider what I’m saying.”

Eames made a gruff noise in response, turning to head back into the house.

 

+

 

Monday was, figuratively, Eames last day to be staying in Arthur’s home. Both in the allotted time Arthur had set for him, which Eames up until Sunday evening had been privy to stick to. He was even more intrigued. In their outdoor chat, Arthur had walked away likely learning far more about him than Eames had intended to find out about this peculiar logger. Sure, he was still a tad rusty in social interactions, his skill as a conman conversationalist still repairing itself. Nevertheless Eames couldn’t help but feel as though he’d met a proverbial match of sorts. Higher reason told him it was time to make off, his gut told him to stay. 

Meanwhile he got the impression that a certain logger had made up his mind. At least, that was Eames’ first thought when a small pile of clothes was dumped on his body early Monday morning.

“Liberties were taken in regards to proper sizing.” Arthur dropped a bag at Eames’ feet. “But I’m confident my estimates weren’t too far off.” 

He stared at the navy blue Levi jeans on his chest, a bit baffled. Surprisingly, Arthur’s estimates on the size weren’t off at all. “Thanks?”

“Actually it was my fault,” Yusuf confessed, all false woe. “Can’t have you running off in my clothes or ripping them when you hit beast mode.”

Eames’ chuckle was good-natured, pleased to see the shirts that had been selected were only one size too big and not anything he had strong feelings against wearing. “You’re not like any logger I’ve come across.” He told Arthur.

Arthur put a hand on his hip, but he was smiling. “How so?”

“The guns I get, especially given the American predilection for firearms.” Eames pulled out a large grey sweater and took up a pair of jeans and briefs. “The big trucks of course. But those jeans look like they’re painted onto you.”

Yusuf snorted, a hand over his mouth as he eyed them.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I get my clothes from the same place I get my gear, the Four Winds Indian Trading Post, nothing in my closet is designer.”

Behind him Yusuf mouthed: _Lies._

“That tight?” Eames didn’t mask his skepticism.

“Well as you’ve seen I always get the job done Mr. Eames. No matter how tight my jeans are.”

Eames gave a slight nod. “And you’re readiness to commit manslaughter for a complete stranger?”

Arthur approached the bed slowly, sitting down with a comfortable distance between Eames and himself. “Look Eames, I’m no boy scout. We’ve all got our pasts. I imagine your’s isn’t so squeaky clean either. But, we accept you.” 

Yusuf nodded in agreement. “Look at it as you being one of us.”

“You don’t,” Eames frowned, putting a hand on his forehead. It was pounding. “Know anything about me.”

He looked over as Arthur sighed. “You can get changed in my bathroom, Yusuf will give you some more painkillers. Look Eames, all the secrecy, we’re not dumb. You’re running from something. That alone says a lot about you. We’re willing to help, if you want our help.”

Eames stared at the clothes in his lap, at a loss of sorts. He shrugged muttering “ _I’ll think on it_.” 

He began to stand but Arthur gently guided him back down. “Let’s have a look at your stitches, see if they’re close to being ready to come out.”

Eames huffed softly, but set the clothing aside and allowed Arthur to help him out of his sweater. Arthur touched delicately over the raised skin. The swelling had almost gone down fully, his skin wasn’t hot to the touch.

“You heal fast,” Arthur mused, pulling away. “That a werebear thing?”

Eames nodded, standing again. He could feel both Arthur and Yusuf’s eyes on him as he made his way to Arthur’s room. They started talking as soon as he shut the door behind him but Eames was so flooded in his own thoughts he didn’t process their words.

He might have been a habitual thief and criminal but Eames did have a set of laws he upheld. Chief among them was avoiding attachments. To identities, to places, to other people. Attachments were tells, vulnerabilities he himself had taken advantage of all too often. The last thing he wanted was to become someone else’s mark, someone’s victim.

Yet as he reminded himself of all this in the shower, once again his gut was pulling in the other direction. Was telling him to stay a while longer. Eames had long since learned to trust his gut when all else failed him.

Was this really a time to do otherwise?

Arthur didn’t ask him if he would be staying longer again, only gave a soft smile when evening rolled around and Eames was still there, back on the sofa-bed.


End file.
